


Late Night Laments

by partofthedisease



Category: Sing (2016)
Genre: Angst, Family Issues, First work on ao3, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, first fandom work, headcanons, hoo boy buckle up boys and girls this is gonna be quite the ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9167557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partofthedisease/pseuds/partofthedisease
Summary: After the death of Johnny's mother, both him and his father are impacted in different ways- and none of them are for the better. (Oneshot)





	

Johnny's mother breathed life into everything she touched.

His mother, whose smile could melt the January snow in England, whose lilting voice caused flowers to bloom, whose gentle touch softened the roughest of men.

Johnny could remember only positive things about his mum. She was the nicest women he had ever known, and an even better parent. She never raised a hand to punish him, unlike his father, who claimed to be "toughening him up," "teaching him a lesson," "showing him who's boss." 

His mother was like a song. He found solace in her words, her belief that there were things in the world worth smiling about. She kept his entire family happy- even his father, who was usually hard to please. With his mother around the man would come home from work with a skip in his stride, breezing through the front door with a song on his tongue as he kissed his wife and greeted his son. 

On days when work at the shipyard had been tougher than usual, Johnny would watch in awe as his mum took a seat in front of the piano and filled the house with music for her husband. Every song she played was different; sometimes it was a moving classical piece, other times it was jazz, or a ballad of some sort. His dad loved it all, and every single note she played mingled with her warbling voice and seemed to make all his problems fade. She was the eye of the hurricane that was his father; the way she was able to calm him with such ease was magic.

Perhaps that's why, when she died, so did his father's pleasant demeanor. 

Johnny saw rapid change in him. At the funeral the man was a stoic husk, face devoid of any pain or sorrow. When he gave her eulogy, his voice held no song- not even a mournful dirge for his lost love. It was confusing to watch Johnny's father compare his wife to a song while he spoke in such expressionless monotone.

Johnny sobbed for his mother. He cried long, winding rivers for her, hoping they'd carry some sort of song to her in heaven, hoping she'd hear him and come back to tell him she loved him one last time. There were times when he felt numb, of course, but only after he had spent hours in his room, crying until there were no tears left to fall.

His father was different.

There were no tears at the funeral.

There were no tears for the many relatives, in-laws, and close friends who gave their condolences.

There were no tears at the burial.

Johnny soon found that his father only allowed himself to cry during the late hours of the night, when Johnny was supposed to be asleep, and when his father had a bottle of alcohol clenched tightly in his fist. The young gorilla had spent many nights hiding on the staircase, watching as the man picked his poisons and downed bottle after bottle until he became a mess of hiccups and sobs. 

This was his father's requiem, one he performed repeatedly in the privacy of the late hours of the night. It was wrong, granted, but Johnny couldn't help but perch atop the stairs each night to watch. It comforted him, in a way; it reassured him that his father was still capable of emoting.

One late night in particular, Johnny snuck out of his room and tiptoed down the steps to watch his father's nightly lament.

It never came. Instead, Johnny was greeted by a bottle that narrowly missed his head. 

The young gorilla flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as the glass struck the wall above him and shattered promptly. When he cautiously opened his eyes, he was met by his father, whose own eyes were glistening with tears yet cold with fury.

Johnny was shaking. He willed his rapidly pounding heart to still, but to no avail. "Dad," he tried, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I-"

"An' what're you doin' up, then?" The stench of alcohol tainted his father's breath as he spoke. "You're s'pose to be asleep and instead I find you sneaking around _spying_ on me?" 

"I didn't mean nothin' by it, honest, I was just-"

"What? You were just _what?_ "

No response. Johnny hung his head in silence.

"You were bein' a damn _sneak_ , that's what." His father's voice was dangerously low. "Don't you _ever_ pull a stunt like this again, am I making myself clear?"

"Dad, I don't think it's good for you to be drinkin' like this," Johnny blurted, speaking against his better judgement. "Maybe... maybe y' need _help_ or somethin'-"

" _Johnathan._ " His father's voice ricocheted off of the walls and hit Johnny with such force that he flinched once more. "Am I making myself _clear?_

Johnny blinked, and tears fell from his eyes without hesitation. "Yes, sir," he choked out in a whisper.

For a split second, his father's hard expression faltered into a deluge of emotions- regret, sadness, pain. But it was over as quickly as it had come, and Johnny was left standing alone among the scattered shards of glass. 

 

A year later, they moved from England to an urban city in the States. Originally, the change promised a new start for both Johnny and his father, yet no positive change occurred. His father worked odd jobs here and there to support himself and his son, and returned home every night exhausted and quick to snap. Johnny felt as though he was walking on eggshells, and trying to balance pleasing his father, schoolwork, and his growing passion for music left him weary and stressed as well.

It was the night of his fourteenth birthday when things changed for good, spiraling downhill and out of proportion like an avalanche.

6 PM was the time his father got home from work every night (give or take a few minutes when it came to traffic). Yet hours passed with no sign of the man, and Johnny found himself sitting at the dining room table, watching the clock and gripping his chair with unease until his knuckles turned pale grey. He was debating on calling the police when the front door burst open. 

The teen shot up like a rocket and bolted to the door. In waltzed his father, who was carrying a large box and looking very pleased with himself.

"Dad, where've you been?" Johnny questioned incredulously. "It's past 9 already!"

His father laughed. "Is it, now?" he replied jovially as he set the box down on the floor. "Must've slipped my mind; I was out all night gettin' you _these_."

Johnny was in disbelief. He stared down at the box with confusion, then at his father, whose smile hid a secret he wasn't yet aware of. The man gave an ushering nod, and Johnny bent down to open the box.

His fingers gingerly traced the crease where smooth cardboard met layers of grey duct tape. Carefully, the teen went to work at removing each piece of tape.

"Aw, c'mon, lad. Don't be such a sissy; rip the damn thing open!"

Giddiness suddenly got the best of Johnny. His dad had finally done something right! Eyes alight, he eagerly tore at the tape and wadded it into a sticky ball before discarding it on the floor. His jaw went slack once he threw open the cardboard flaps.

Michael Jackson. The Temptations. Queen. Whitney Houston. The box was filled to the brim with record upon record, an assortment of Johnny's favorite artists. Mouth agape, his gaze went from the crate to his father, who was smiling proudly.

"Son," he stated, clamping a hand on Johnny's shoulder, "happy birthday."

"Wha-" Johnny could barely speak. His shaking hands reached into the box and pulled out a record. Elton John, _"Goodbye Yellow Brick Road."_ "Dad, this is... it's insane!" He allowed himself to grin as he leafed through the different albums. "How'd you afford all these?"

"Oh, don't you worry about that. I got 'em real cheap."

"You're kidding! How much?"

It was his father's turn to smile widely. " _They didn't cost a thing_."

Johnny's expression fell. His eyes traveled to the clock on the wall, then to the dozens of records that filled the box before him. The realization hit him, and a sense of dread crept upon him and settled uneasily in his stomach.

"Dad," he began, his voice catching in his throat. "You- you didn't-"

His father laughed loudly. "I sure did! Me an' some boys from work hit up that record store you love so much and did a little 'discounted shopping.'" He chuckled at his own joke. "Had every artist under the sun, they did. Couldn't help but want to get my boy somethin' special for his birthday."

Johnny paled with every word. The record he held slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. "You... _stole_ these," he croaked, voice barely above a whisper.

His father frowned. "Well, I did it for you, didn't I?" He demanded. When Johnny gave no reply he added, "look, this ain't that big a deal, son. No one's gonna miss a couple of records made by a bunch of irrelevant twats no one cares about no more."

Johnny stiffened at the words. It was no surprise that his father felt no remorse over a crime such as this, but the fact that he had trampled over his own son's passion right to his face was simply heartless. 

"Mum would _hate_ you."

The words were spat from his mouth on their own accord, and his hands flew to his lips upon realization. 

His father's gaze turned fierce. "Dad, I didn't mean it, I swear I didn't," Johnny stammered out, but before he could finish his father had the box in his hands. He flung it at the wall with rage and the records went flying, crashing against the plaster like the glass bottle had so many years ago. 

"See if I ever try to do anything for you ever again," his father growled as he exited the room.

 

The next few years were turbulent ones, and Johnny soon found himself tangled up in the dangerous webs his father had woven. The older male had gone from stealing the occasional department store item to robbing store owners for money and committing tax evasion. Their apartment was constantly full of bulking, stone-faced men who referred to Johnny's dad as "Boss." Apparently, they were his father's "associates," who sat around the dining room table drinking beers and scheming. 

Many nights, Johnny was able to get away from these meetings by claiming he had schoolwork. These lies bought him a few hours of alone time, which he spent atop the roof of their apartment complex, watching the stars as he listened to piano ballads on his phone. This was when he felt closest to his mother, when he was so close to the sky he could almost reach up and swirl the stars.

As the music played softly in his head one night, Johnny found himself staring into the sky wondering if his mother would be able to hear him if he told her he loved her.

So he did. The words came out in a broken whisper as tears welled in his eyes.

"It's been a long time since we talked, mum," Johnny confessed softly, casting his eyes downward. "Too long. I'm sorry for that. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you, though." He paused. "Same goes for Dad. He misses you, I can tell- he hasn't been acting like himself lately."

"Johnny!" a loud voice bellowed from the floor beneath him. "Where the bloody hell'd you run off to?"

The teen knit his brows in frustration and closed his eyes, increasing the volume of his music. "He's just lost, is all," he continued, speaking louder this time, desperately. "He don't mean to hurt me like he do, y'know, he just don't know how to express his emotions quite right... and he wouldn't be runnin' around like he does if you were, y'know... still _around_..."

The ceiling beneath him shook, most likely from the impact of a broomstick. " _Johnathan Coxon, I'll tan your hide if you don't get your arse back here-_ "

Johnny jammed his thumb onto his phone's volume button, and the music swelled in his ears as his eyes snapped open. " _Dammit_ , Mum, why'd you have to _leave?_ " he screamed to the stars.

Pain bloomed like thistles in his chest as he broke down, fat tears streaming down his cheeks and dampening his fur. He felt his universe slowly collapsing in on itself, fragments of stars falling onto him like shards of glass and broken records. 

As his sobs slowly quieted down to soft whimpers, Johnny drew his knees to his chest and allowed the fading piano notes to cradle him until he drifted off.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so considering how I wrote most of this at 3AM while listening to sad songs by The Weeknd on repeat I'd say this was a job well done.
> 
> Jokes aside, I had a lot of fun writing this, and hopefully this won't be my only work for Sing. Thanks for the read; reviews are appreciated!


End file.
